


Needs Met

by Zanate56



Category: Adventures of Tintin (2011), Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:25:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3610041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanate56/pseuds/Zanate56
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tintin has always prided himself on his independence; he's accustomed to looking after himself but with a new friend in Captain Haddock Tintin learns that he doesn't always have to rely on himself.  An exploration of how two very different men slowly formed a deep and lasting friendship as seen in Herge's stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needs Met

**Author's Note:**

> I was a big fan of the Tintin cartoons growing up, and now that I'm older I'm rediscovering this wonderful fandom. I loved the 2011 film and this fic is based mainly within the 2011-verse film, but with details taken from Herge's original stories sprinkled throughout. I haven't written fanfic in a long time so I hope this story does justice to Herge's amazing world and the characters in them, especially to the amazing friendship between Tintin and Captain Haddock.

_“Your friend is your needs answered. He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving. And he is your board and your fireside. For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.” – Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet_

Tintin shouldn’t have been surprised at the headlines, but when he saw the article in the _The Times_ he had to resist the urge to tear up the offending article and burn it. Instead he politely asked the vendor for a copy, paid the man and tucked the paper under his arm. Those who were familiar with the young man would have been surprised at the fierce anger that coursed through Tintin. Tintin had learned over the years to keep his temper in check by channeling his passionate nature into his writing, which had allowed him to earn a permanent position as a journalist by the time he was seventeen. Sometimes, though, it was difficult to keep his emotions in check, particularly when a friend was being slandered.

_“Suspects apprehended in theft of merchant ship Karaboujan…question of captain’s involvement in opium smuggling still under investigation…shipping company has confirmed that Captain Haddock has been relieved of duties until investigation is complete…”_

Tintin took a deep breath and whistled to Snowy who obediently came to heel. The words still leapt in front of his eyes despite Tintin’s efforts to not dwell on them too much as he walked through the bustling market at Portobello Road. It was a cool but clear spring day and normally the sight of so many people and things to explore would put Tintin in a good mood, but not today.

It made Tintin furious to see Haddock’s name bandied about as though he were some lowlife criminal, but Tintin had worked in journalism long enough to know that newspapers were less concerned with the truth than what appeared to be the truth. And the latter usually sold more papers than the former. 

Both Tintin and Haddock had testified at Saccharine’s trial last month in London. Tintin had tried to speak to the captain during recesses but he had barely been able to catch a glimpse of the man, let alone speak to him in private. Tintin had realized that Haddock was avoiding him and knew it was due to a mixture of anger and humiliation at being duped by his own crew. And even worse was that during the course of the investigation cocaine had been found among the Karaboujan’s cargo.

When they had both finished testifying and had been dismissed Tintin and Haddock had finally managed to find a quiet street not far from the courthouse. Tintin had been dismayed by the captain’s appearance; he looked worn and haggard and his eyes were bloodshot from either exhaustion or too much whiskey. It had probably been both.

_“Captain, are you alright?” Tintin asked, placing a hand on the older man’s arm._

_Haddock sighed and ran a hand over his face before scrubbing at his beard, which was looking more unkempt than usual. “I’ve been advised to get me own solicitor, lad.”_

_“Solicitor? But why…” Tintin trailed off as the answer came to him. “They think you were involved in the cocaine smuggling?”_

_Haddock smiled grimly. “That’s the short of it, yes.”_

_“I’ll testify on your behalf if it comes to that,” Tintin said without hesitation. “I’m sure the authorities will realize that you weren’t involved.”_

Tintin’s further efforts to encourage Haddock were met with sullen silence and eventually the younger man had suggested a walk before they retired. Haddock had agreed and they had walked aimlessly among the streets. Tintin knew London almost as well as his native Brussels after living in the city for nearly two years and eventually he led them to a secluded café where he forced some coffee and food into the captain.

That had been two months ago. Tintin had kept up a regular correspondence with Haddock by way of letters and telegrams but Haddock’s responses were short and terse, revealing nothing of the man’s state of mind. Tintin worried that with nothing to occupy himself while the merchant navy finished its investigation Haddock would drown himself in whiskey. It had come as a surprise when Tintin had received a letter from Haddock inviting him to come down to Marlinspike Hall to see how the restoration was progressing.

Tintin had hesitated only a moment before replying that he would be down within the week. He had been feeling tired and sluggish lately and found it difficult to focus on his work. Perhaps a break in the countryside would do him good.

The screech of car tires snapped Tintin out of his thoughts and he looked up to see a car careening wildly through the too-narrow lanes. People screamed as they tried to get out of the way but another sound caught Tintin’s attention. It was Snowy - the dog had left his master’s side to investigate a pile of rubbish and to Tintin’s horror the dog was in the car’s direct path.

“Snowy!” 

Tintin shoved his way through the crowd, ignoring the people rushing past him. He managed to scoop the frightened dog into his arms just before someone shouted a warning.

“Watch out, boy!”

Tintin looked up just in time to see the car speeding towards him. His heart in his mouth, Tintin reacted without thinking and twisted his body away from the car. The bumper still caught him on the hip and he was flung off of his feet and thrown against something incredibly hard. The impact knocked the wind out of his lungs while at the same time sending Snowy flying from his master’s arms with a startled yelp.

There was a screech of tires, people screaming, the acrid taste of gasoline in his mouth…or was it blood? Tintin’s last thought was a prayer that Snowy was safe before blackness overtook him.

* * *

“You, young man, are incredibly lucky,” said the doctor after he finished examining Tintin. “Frankly, I’m amazed that you escaped with only a few fractured ribs, some cuts and bruises. Had that car hit you straight on, you may not be here at all.”

Tintin had woken later that day to find himself in hospital, aching all over. His panic over not seeing his loyal dog by his side was quickly eased when Thomson and Thompson arrived, Snowy trotting at their heels. The detectives had explained that the driver of the car had been drunk and was facing charges, and that they would need Tintin’s statement as soon as he was up to it.

He had already spent one night in the hospital to ensure that he did not have a concussion and now Tintin was eager to make his escape as the doctor made some notes.

“And you haven’t had any nausea or double-vision since you woke, correct?”

Tintin nodded, keeping an arm wrapped loosely around his side. He struggled to take deep breaths but that only seemed to aggravate the itch in his chest. He lost the struggle and coughed fitfully, groaning as his injured ribs protested against the pressure.

Blast this cough, he thought moodily. It had started shortly after his adventure with the Unicorn and he hadn’t been able to shake it. In fact it was starting to grow worse but Tintin refused to acknowledge it as anything other than a bad cold.

The doctor paused in his writing and looked up when he heard Tintin’s groan of pain.

“How long have you had that cough?”

“I’m not sure…maybe two or three weeks?”

“And it hasn’t gotten better?”

Tintin shook his head as the doctor listed to his breathing, coughing when ordered to.

The doctor listened carefully for a few moments before shaking his head. “If that grows any worse you are in danger of developing pneumonia. And with the injury to your ribs it’s even more important that you rest. I would like to admit you-”

“No!” The doctor blinked in surprise at the young man’s outburst.

Tintin blushed and cleared his throat, stating more calmly. “That is, thank you for your concern, doctor, but I have plans to travel tomorrow.”

“Traveling is the last thing you should be doing, young man.”

“I’ll be on a train for a few hours and then staying with a friend. I promise that I won’t overexert myself. Besides, surely the country air will do me good.”

The doctor scrawled something in a notebook, muttering something about “foolish youth” and Tintin had to struggle to not roll his eyes. He was only eighteen, true, but he was still an adult and nothing rankled him more than being spoken to like a child. The doctor finally left him and a nurse returned with his clothing.

Mrs. Finch was away visiting her sister in Birmingham and the flat was cold and dark by the time Tintin arrived. He locked the front door before turning on the lights. Tintin briefly thought about making himself some dinner but the mere thought of cooking exhausted him. He had taken a cab from the hospital but he still felt as if he had run a marathon; his limbs were shaking and he felt hot and sweaty despite the coldness of the flat.

Tintin barely managed to summon the energy to give Snowy fresh water and food before collapsing into the nearest chair with a groan. He looked down when Snowy whined and patted the dog’s head.

“Don’t worry, Snowy, I’ll be alright. I’m just tired. A good night’s sleep will do me good. Besides, I promised the captain that we’d come visit and see how the restoration of Marlinspike Hall is coming along.”

Snowy gave his master an unconvinced look as Tintin changed his clothes and crawled into bed. He slept fitfully and awoke in the early hours of morning, feeling as though his chest were on fire. Tintin stumbled to his feet and into the bathroom. A sudden coughing fit had him bent double over the sink and when he opened his eyes there was dark, blood-tinged sputum in the sink.

Grimacing in disgust, Tintin washed his mouth and the sink out before taking a glass of water with him back to bed. He lay back down, wondering if maybe he should have listed to the doctor. But Tintin hated hospitals and the thought of being confined to one made his stomach churn. But more than that, he wanted to see the captain again. Lately his small apartment had seemed too quiet and isolated and Tintin longed to see a familiar face. And Tintin was nothing if not stubborn. With that he rolled over and fell asleep.

* * *

Tintin stepped onto the station platform as the train pulled away, looking around for his friend. Haddock had said he would meet him here. The young man shivered as a gust of wind picked up, carrying with it the slight scent of rain. Pulling his coat tighter around himself, Tintin beckoned to Snowy as he stepped further onto the platform.

“Tintin, good to see you, laddie!” a deep Scottish voice called out. Tintin turned with a smile as he caught sight of a familiar naval hat. Before the younger man could warn his friend Haddock swept him up into an exuberant hug. Tintin gasped as his injured ribs flared and he couldn’t hide a sharp gasp of pain.

“Blisterin’ barnacles! Tintin, what’s wrong?” Haddock quickly set the boy on his feet but he kept a hand on his back. 

“Nothing…I’m fine,” he wheezed.

“Laddie, you’re white as a sheet and grippin’ my coat tighter than an oyster. You’re not fine.”

“Alright, maybe my ribs are a bit…fractured,” said Tintin, releasing his tight grip on Haddock’s coat with a flush of embarrassment.

Haddock’s eyes widened. “Thunderin’ typhoons! How the blazes did you manage that?”

“A car accident in Portobello Road,” explained the younger man as Haddock steered them away from the crowded platform, his taller form easily making a path for them. “It could have been worse,” he added grimly.

“How do you figure that, lad?”

“I was one of the lucky ones – a woman was killed and a man is in a coma. Another man lost his leg. A few cracked ribs and some bruises are a small price to pay in comparison.”

Haddock swore. “And I made it worse, didn’t I?”

“No, no, it’s fine. Really.” Haddock gave him a skeptical look and Tintin quickly thought of a way to change the subject.

“How is the restoration coming along?”

“The place is a mess but there’s a warm fire and a chair for you if you’re interested,” said Haddock, keeping his arm wrapped Tintin’s shoulders as he led them towards his car. A man rushing past them sent Tintin stumbling into Haddock’s side. Tintin winced but gritted his teeth, refusing to make any further sounds. The man turned to apologize but one glare from Haddock sent the man hurrying on his way.

“Clumsy clophead,” Haddock muttered.

Tintin laughed but it quickly turned into a coughing fit that had him bent double. It felt as though there were hot coals lodged deep inside his chest that were trying to escape. When his vision cleared he found that Haddock had a strong arm wrapped around his waist. Tintin loosened his tight grip on Haddock’s arm but the older man didn’t let go.

“Sorry,” the boy wheezed.

Haddock frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that cough but he knew Tintin well enough to know that the boy was fiercely independent and wouldn’t take too kindly to being fussed over. Instead he took Tintin’s bag and placed it in the boot before beckoning to Tintin. 

“C’mon, laddie. Nestor will be expecting us.”

By the time they reached Marlinspike Hall the light rain had turned into a full-fledged downpour. Haddock and Tintin made a run for it once the car had been parked but despite being outside for only a few moments they were both soaked through when they stepped into the entryway.

Nestor was already waiting for them with his usual efficiency, taking their dripping coats and pressing warmed towels into their hands. 

“There’s tea in the study, sirs. Mr. Tintin, I’ll have your things brought up to your room at once.”

“Thank you, Nestor,” said Tintin gratefully, resisting the urge to rub his chest where he could feel another coughing fit coming on. The captain was already giving him concerned looks and Tintin was determined not to ruin his visit because of a cold. Haddock led them through the foyer and down the hall to the study, describing some of the changes since Tintin’s last visit. The overall structure of the hall was in excellent condition due to its fine craftsmanship and so Haddock was focused on making the interior livable once again.

“The bloody boiler’s been on the fritz – if it keeps actin’ up I’ll have to replace it,” Haddock grumbled as he opened the door to the study. Haddock motioned for Tintin to take a seat while he bent to tend to the fire.

Tintin smiled as he gazed about the room, which was far less dusty than it had been at his last visit. The study was one of Tintin’s favorite things about Marlinspike; it was a large and spacious room, furnished with a large desk and comfortable chairs. Large windows along the southern wall looked out over the grounds, allowing plenty of light in during the day for reading and working. Several antiques that Tintin recognized from the cellar now adorned the study, freshly cleaned and polished. The boy smiled when he spotted Sir Francis’ hat, carefully hung on a peg above the globe that had originally concealed the map to the site of the Unicorn’s wreckage. Tintin knew that Haddock valued that hat more than the gold and jewels Sir Francis had left behind.

Books lined the shelves, some from Haddock’s family collection and just as many from the captain himself. Tintin had been pleasantly surprised to discover that Haddock was well read and could speak French fluently despite his thick Scottish brogue. But then, Tintin had mused, he supposed that there wasn’t much to do on a ship besides read. He had enjoyed discovering that he and Haddock had shared favorites in literature, particularly Arthur Conan Doyle, Alexandre Dumas, and classic works such as Homer’s Odyssey.

Tintin sat down on one of the comfortable chairs, accepting a cup of tea from Haddock and wrapping his chilled fingers around the warm porcelain. Despite Tintin’s attempts to hide his shivers Haddock stood and placed another log on the fire. He shouldn’t have been surprised – he had quickly learned that Haddock was far more observant than he first appeared. 

“So how have you been lad?” said Haddock, stretching his long legs out towards the fire as he lit his pipe.

“Well,” said Tintin, taking a sip of the strong tea. “I’m between articles right now so I’ve had time to work on some research.”

“And you?” he asked tentatively after a moment.

Haddock shrugged. “As well as can be expected while on formal suspension for dereliction of duty.”

Seeing the boy’s shocked expression Haddock offered further explanation. “The merchant navy doesn’t tolerate its officers being duped by their own crew, lad.”

“But surely you’ll be allowed to return to your position once you’ve been cleared of any wrongdoing?”

Haddock snorted. “No company’s going to trust their cargo with a captain who didn’t even know there was opium in his own hold. No Tintin, I’m land-bound for the time being.”

They fell into a silence, Tintin watching as Haddock opened a bottle of whiskey and poured a glass for himself. The boy frowned at the action but remained silent. It wasn’t his place to lecture the captain in his own home, and especially since they didn’t have to worry about been blown up or shot at. But it still worried Tintin just how much the captain drank. He didn’t fully believe that it was solely to Haddock thinking he had failed to live up to Sir Francis’ legacy but he wasn’t going to pry. Tintin himself was intensely private and the last thing he wanted to do was butt into the captain’s private affairs.

Tintin suddenly thought of a way to distract the captain from his depressing situation, if only for a short while.

“Oh, I almost forgot! I have something for you.” Haddock watched as Tintin rummaged through his satchel and returned with a book in his hands. He held it out to the older man, who took it with some surprise.

“Moby Dick?”

“I remember you mentioning that you hadn’t gotten a chance to read it yet. I found it in Portobello Road. It’s the American edition so you needn’t worry about editors deleting unsavory parts.”

“Thank you, laddie,” said Haddock with a warm smile.

They passed the evening quietly, talking of anything that came to mind. Supper was simple but excellent – mutton stew served with hot bacon sandwiches. While Snowy enjoyed his own supper of a left-over soup bone Tintin found himself fighting back coughs, making it difficult for him to eat. He wasn’t particularly hungry but refused to worry the captain or Nestor by not at least attempting to make a dent in his meal.

When another coughing fit had Tintin nearly gagging on a mouthful of soup Haddock stood, took Tintin’s teacup and refilled it. He added a finger of whiskey to the cup before returning it to Tintin. The boy frowned at it before looking up at Haddock.

“Drink it,” Haddock said. “It’ll help.”

Tintin looked at the captain’s face, recognizing the rare sternness in the older man’s features and decided not to argue. He took a healthy swallow of tea and was surprised to feel the ache in his chest lessen somewhat.

After the dishes had been cleared away Tintin found himself struggling to keep his eyes open despite it being only half past seven. Haddock was describing one of his earlier trips as a young midshipman…the captain’s deep voice molded with the ticking of the clock…and the crackling of the fireplace…and the wind…

“Tintin. Tintin, wake up.”

Tintin blinked to find that the room was dimmer, lit only by the soft glow of the fireplace and a single lamp. He was lying down on the settee he had previously been sitting on, a blanket draped over him. He felt hot and sweaty and he pushed aside the blanket, fighting against a wave of dizziness as he sat up.

“I’m sorry, I must be more tired than I thought. Perhaps I should go to bed.”

Haddock watched him stand, his weathered and puffy eyes narrowed in concern. 

“Will you be able to manage the stairs, or should I just carry you m’self?”

Tintin grinned despite how poorly he was feeling and shook his head. “You’d put your back out,” he said, even though he knew Haddock could easily carry him if he had to. After all, the man was strong enough to snap an oar in half with his bare hands.

“Good night, Captain.”

“Good night, lad.”

Half way up the stairs Tintin was seriously reconsidering whether he should have accepted Haddock’s offer to carry him upstairs. He knew the captain had only been teasing him, but a wounded ego was far better than a broken neck.

As he drifted to sleep Tintin ideally wondered why it didn’t bother him whenever the captain called him “laddie” or “my boy”. It was certainly something to sleep on.

* * *

“Morning landlubber, or afternoon rather,” said Haddock, looking up from his newspaper with a smile as Tintin entered the dining room near lunchtime the following day.

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long,” the boy protested even as he rubbed his eyes in an effort to wake up.

“Why not?” said Haddock with a shrug. “There’s no rush and nowhere to be. Besides, you clearly needed it so there’s that.”

Tintin sat down at the table, thanking Nestor when the butler placed a cup of coffee in front of him. He felt something soft brush against his leg and looked down to see a Siamese cat gazing up at him with large blue eyes.

“Hello there,” he said, bending down to stroke the cat’s silky head. The cat meowed in response.

Haddock smiled when he cat sight of the cat.

“Ah, I see you’ve met Molly Malone.”

The cat jumped onto the table and purred loudly when Haddock scratched behind her ears.

“Molly Malone? So that’s her name?”

“Aye. I found her as a wee kitten and decided she would make an excellent mouser for a ship, and she hasn’t disappointed me yet. Have you, lassie?”

Molly nudged her head against Haddock’s hand before jumping down to go find her own lunch.

“Fancy a tour of the grounds?” Haddock asked once Tintin had finished his coffee. “You’ve seen the house but I don’t believe you’ve had a chance to take in the gardens and such.”

“Yes, I’d love to see them.”

Brutus, the guard dog that had chased Tintin on his first trip to Marlinspike, barked happily when he caught sight of them on the grounds, and soon he and Snowy were bounding ahead of their masters as they engaged in a game of chase.

Later that night as Tintin was getting ready for bed the most violent coughing fit yet had him nearly in tears. When Tintin’s vision finally cleared he saw that there was bright red blood on his sleeve from where he had covered his mouth.

Hearing Snowy’s anxious whines, Tintin attempted to reassure the dog but another violent coughing fit had him doubling over, gripping the doorframe. He fell to his knees and then felt the hard floorboard underneath him. Then there was darkness and nothing else.

Haddock groaned when he heard a scratching at his door. He attempted to ignore it by stuffing his pillow over his head but the scratching continued, followed by high-pitched barks and whines.

“Thunderin’ typhoons!” The captain growled, tossing his pillow aside as he flung back the covers. He stomped over to the door to his bedroom and flung it open, glaring down at the culprit.

“What in blazes is wrong with you, yer crazy mutt?” Haddock mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Snowy barked again and ran backwards and forwards.

More awake now, Haddock looked down at the anxious dog. He had never seen the animal act like this before.

“What is it, Snowy?”

The dog whined and ran halfway down the hall before stopping and running back to Haddock. Snowy whined again and pawed at the captain’s leg. Haddock began to walk down the hallway, his hackles rising as he realized that something just didn’t feel right to him. It was an old superstition that sailors who had been long at sea sometimes developed a sense of danger and it was a sense that Haddock knew better than to ignore.

Haddock followed Snowy to Tintin’s room and then froze in the entryway at the sight before him. Tintin was lying on the floor, his face stark white which made the blood on his mouth stand out with shocking vividness.

“Blisterin barnacles,” Haddock breathed out, for a moment too shocked to move. A quick nip to his ankle thanks to Snowy snapped Haddock into action. He was kneeling by Tintin in an instant, carefully rolling the boy onto his back.

“Tintin, Tintin! Can you hear me, laddie?” Haddock patted the boy’s cheek and almost yanked it back. The boy’s skin felt like it was burning.

Tintin’s eyes fluttered open and the normally bright eyes were dull and unfocused. “Cap’n…wha…what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong he says?” Haddock bit out, his voice and expression uncharacteristically harsh. His touch was gentle, however, as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the blood on Tintin’s chin.

“Ten thousand thunderin’ typhoons, you’re coughin’ up blood and you’re asking me what’s wrong?”

“Nestor!” he bellowed, unwilling to leave Tintin for even a second.

The servant appeared in the doorway moments later, his usually unflappable expression quickly fading into shock when he saw Tintin lying on the floor.

“Don’t just stand there, man! Call a doctor, now!” To the butler’s credit Nestor didn’t say a word; he quickly left to summon the local county physician.

After Nestor had left Haddock returned his attention to his friend.

“You shouldn’t have come if you were this sick, lad,” said Haddock, his expression fading from anger to dismay as he ran his fingers through the boy’s short, sweaty hair.

“Din’t realize…w’s this bad…” Tintin said, his voice thin and reedy. 

“Besides..wanted t’see you,” the boy added softly and Haddock felt his face flush with gratitude. He knew of no one who wanted to see him just for the sake of visiting; Haddock didn’t have much in the way of friends and he was beginning to suspect that Tintin didn’t either.

Haddock leaned back against the wall, carefully pulling Tintin to rest against him. The younger man nearly sobbed with relief when the pressure was taken off of his ribs and lungs. He let his head fall back onto Haddock’s shoulder, eyes wrenched shut as he struggled to control his breathing.

To Tintin’s immense relief Haddock didn’t say a thing – he simply held onto his friend until the boy’s shuddering stopped.

Tintin opened his eyes when he felt something warm being draped over him. It was the captain’s thick wool coat.

“S-sorry…”

“None of that now, Tintin,” said Haddock, perfectly content to remain where he was despite the protest in his back.

Haddock looked up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs and soon Nestor entered, an elderly gentleman accompanying him.

“Master Haddock, this is Doctor Marion.”

The doctor took in the scene with one swift glance and knelt next to the two men, not bothering with formalities. “No, keep him upright while I examine him,” he said when Haddock made to get up. The doctor’s watery grey eyes narrowed behind his spectacles when he saw the dried blood on Tintin’s mouth.

“How long has he been coughing with blood?” he asked as he pulled a stethoscope out of his bag

“I don’t know…he’s been coughing since he got here. He hurt his ribs a few days ago…”

The doctor looked up sharply. “He has broken ribs?”

“No, just fractured he said.” Haddock’s face suddenly paled. “His lungs, a rib didn’t…”

“No, if a lung had been ruptured he would have been dead by now,” said the doctor. He lifted up Tintin’s shirt and frowned at the ugly bruising that decorated the boy’s slim torso. 

“Monsieur, can you hear me?” The doctor tapped Tintin’s cheek firmly and the boy finally managed to open his eyes.

“I need you to tell me how you injured your ribs, and how long you have been coughing like this.”

He prodded carefully and Tintin made a low noise of pain.

“You’re hurting him!” Haddock protested, the fact that he was still holding Tintin the only thing keeping him from throwing the man away from his friend.

“Monsieur, I have no desire to cause more pain to your friend than necessary but it is crucial that I discern how badly his ribs are damaged. Now if you would be so kind, please help me lift him to the bed. I’m sure he’ll be more comfortable there.”

Haddock muttered a few choice words which the doctor ignored. He did raise his eyebrows, however, when Haddock stood and gathered Tintin into his arms. 

“Where are you going?” he demanded as Haddock turned to leave the room. 

“Taking him to my room – the bloody boiler’s out again and it’s an icebox in here if you haven’t noticed.”

Fifteen minutes later Tintin was ensconced in Haddock’s bed, sleeping deeply thanks to a draught Marion had administered. The physician beckoned to Haddock and the older man reluctantly followed Marion out of the room so that they could talk in private.

“Now, your friend’s condition,” Marion began.

“His name is Tintin,” growled Haddock.

“Yes, as I was saying, Tintin’s condition-”

“It’s not consumption, is it?” Haddock interrupted, suddenly desperately afraid for his young friend.

“No, I do not believe so. It’s simply a bad case of pneumonia made worse by his injuries.”

Haddock sighed and Marion raised his bushy eyebrows in inquiry.

“Are you a relative of the boy, monsieur?”

“Ah, no. Just a friend,” said Haddock, scratching his bead self-consciously.

“Ah, I see. Normally with damaged ribs I would advise the patient to move around as much as possible to prevent fluid from building up in the lungs, but we have already passed that stage-”

“Obviously,” grumbled Haddock.

“Yes, quite. Now as I was saying, Tintin is going to need time to recover; it will be weeks, possibly a month or more before he’s back on his feet. Once his fever breaks you must make sure that he takes enough food and drink. I will also leave a draught that will help ease his cough as well as the discomfort from his ribs.”

The doctor watched as Haddock slumped down into a nearby chair, running a hand over his weather-beaten face.

“Take heart, monsieur. The boy is young and strong, and while his condition is serious I am certain that he will recover. He seems to be in good hands.”

Nestor returned after he had shown the doctor out. “Can I get you anything, Master Haddock?”

“Just my pipe and more tea, if you please Nestor. I’ll be here a while.”

Nestor watched as Haddock pulled up a chair close to Tintin’s bedside. “As you wish, sir.”

* * *

“You’re quite certain there’s no one else I should call? Ah, I see. Thank you, Mrs. Finch. Yes, I’ll make sure the lad rests and follows the doctor’s orders. Thank you again for your help – goodbye.”

Haddock replaced the phone in its cradle and chewed the stem of his pipe in worry.

Tintin had said that there was no one to notify of his illness and it seemed the boy had been right. In fact, now that Haddock thought about it he realized that he knew very little of Tintin’s life. In the few months they had known each other Haddock couldn’t recall Tintin ever mentioning any family or friends. The only people Tintin seemed to have any relationship with were his landlady and those two blubbering fools Thomson and Thompson.

It made no sense to Haddock. Tintin was young, outgoing and by all accounts held in high regard in his field. And yet there was not a single soul that the boy could call on when he was ill.

Haddock wondered how many times this had happened before – how often had Tintin been sick or injured and was alone.

Not anymore, Haddock decided. That wasn’t going to happen while he was around to keep the young whippersnapper out of trouble.

Haddock reached forward and clasped Tintin’s hand. He winced at how cold Tintin’s fingers were and wrapped his own more firmly around the boy’s.

“Blisterin’ barnacles, boy, why do I have the feeling you’ll be the death of me?”

* * *

Tintin woke up to find that his pillow had a faint, lingering scent of tobacco and…salt? No, sea air…it reminded him of…

A snore to his right drew Tintin’s attention and he couldn’t help but smile. Haddock was sitting slumped in a chair next to his bed, his long legs splayed out in front of him, empty pipe dangling from his slightly parted lips as he continued to snore softly.

“Mr. Tintin, I’m relieved to see you awake, sir.” Tintin turned his head to his left to see Nestor enter the room on silent feet. Snowy, who had been asleep on the bed next to Tintin, raised his head and wagged his tale when he saw that his master was awake.

“Don’t wake him,” Tintin murmured when Nestor made to shake Haddock’s shoulder.

Nestor raised an eyebrow. “He will want to know you are awake, sir. Master Haddock has been most distressed over your illness.”

“He has?”

“Yes, he hasn’t left that chair all night.”

Tintin winced as he thought how Haddock’s back and neck would make him pay for that. “Just let him sleep for a little while longer. It’s not like I’m going anywhere,” he added with a wry grin.

Nestor smiled. “Indeed sir.”

“This isn’t my room,” said Tintin with a frown, noticing for the first time the different surroundings.

“No, it’s Master Haddock’s. Your room was too cold for you to remain in – the boiler’s gone out again,” he added upon seeing the confused look on the boy’s face.

Haddock suddenly let out a loud snore and jolted awake, his pipe falling into his lap. “Laddie, you’re awake!” he said with a grin and Tintin suddenly wondered if this is what it felt like to have a father. The thought caught him by surprise and he managed to give the captain a weak smile.

“Sorry if I scared you.”

Haddock snorted as he bent to retrieve his pipe and winced as he back popped audibly. “Thank Snowy, laddie. The mutt started up a racket loud enough t’wake the dead – he’s the reason I found you laid out on the floor.”

Although Haddock tried to make his tone jovial he knew that he didn’t quite manage by the compassionate look Tintin was giving him.

“I truly didn’t think it was this bad,” the boy said, sounding genuinely embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to trouble you…”

Haddock sucked in a deep breath of smoke and choked, coughing fitfully before turning a glare on the younger man.

“You’re not any trouble, lad,” said Haddock, a familiar steely tone creeping into his voice that instantly reminded Tintin that this man had once commanded men on the seas. “And don’t ever scare me like that again! My heart can only take so much!”

“Yes, Captain,” said Tintin, closing his eyes again but this time with a smile.

* * *

Haddock smiled as he watched Tintin dig into his omelet and toast with all of the gusto of a hungry eighteen year-old. The boy was trying hard to be polite and not wolf down his food, but Haddock couldn’t help but think that it was good to see Tintin acting his age for once.

“No need to stand on ceremony, laddie. Eat up,” said Haddock, pushing a plate of bacon towards Tintin. After nearly three weeks of recovery Tintin was finally regaining his appetite and Haddock was determined to put some meat on the boy’s bones.

Nestor appeared to refill their teacups and clear the dishes and then vanished with the quick efficiency that was the man’s trademark.

Later that day Haddock watched as Tintin threw a stick for Snowy and Brutus to fetch. Both dogs bounded after the branch, barking in excitement. They were out on the grounds where the meadow met the edge of the sprawling woods that bordered Marlinspike Hall. Haddock had been ready to protest Tintin’s insistence on taking Snowy for a walk, worried for the boy’s still somewhat shaky health. But he knew it was useless when he saw how restless the boy was becoming. Haddock himself knew all too well how maddening cabin fever could be and he simply shook his head, sighed, and fetched their coats.

Besides, it was really a fine day, warmer than usual with a clear sky and a light breeze. No wonder Tintin had been anxious to get out. As they traveled across the gardens and down the path that led towards the woods Haddock watched as Tintin’s pale face gradually regained a healthy splash of color thanks to the exercise.

“Well done, Snowy, Brutus!” Tintin dropped down on one knee as both dogs ran up to him, holding the stick between them in their jaws.

By the time they returned the sun had sunk below the horizon, casting its last rays across the countryside like the flames of a dying candle. Tintin turned just before they went inside and gazed out at the countryside.

“It really is a beautiful estate, Captain. You could do so much with it.”

They stood for a few moments until a gust of wind had Tintin shivering. Haddock bustled the boy into the house, the dogs trotting obediently at their heels. Before Tintin could protest he found himself in the library, seated in front of the freshly lit fire with a blanket draped around his shoulders.

“Tintin? You alright?”

Tintin blinked and looked up into the captain’s worried face. The boy gave his friend a smile. “Yes, I’m fine, really.”

Haddock looked at him for a moment and then nodded as he went to ring for tea.

* * *

Three days later found Tintin, Haddock and Snowy once again at the train station that would see Tintin back to London.

“You’re quite sure you’ll be alright?” Tintin asked worriedly. Haddock smiled, touched at the boy’s thoughtfulness despite his own recent illness.

“Aye, lad. I won’t lie and say that I’m not disappointed about bein’ forced into an early retirement, but I have enough to keep me busy at Marlinspike Hall for the time being.

“Besides,” he added. “I’ve more than enough funds now to buy me own ship, and can now set sail when I jolly well choose to!”

“That’s good to hear, because I might need the expertise of an experienced seamen in the near future.”

They both laughed as Tintin’s train pulled into the station. Tintin bent down to pick up his satchel but Haddock stopped him.

“I almost forgot – I meant to give you this,” he said. Haddock rummaged in his pockets for a few moments, finally pulling out a set of keys. He took Tintin’s hand and placed them in the boy’s open palm.

“You know you’re always welcome here, laddie. Anytime – day or night. A port in a storm and whatnot.”

The younger man stared down at the keys in his hand and Haddock suddenly wondered if he had been too forward. “Thank you, Captain. I - that means a lot to me.” Tintin looked down as he spoke, his cheeks flushing a bit. He suddenly looked very much like the boy he still was in many ways. Seeing the uncharacteristically shy reaction sent a rush of protectiveness coursing through Haddock. Swallowing against the unfamiliar, but certainly not unwelcome, emotion Haddock simply clapped the man’s shoulder.

“Safe journey, Tintin.” Tintin reached out to shake the captain’s hand but was instead pulled into a brief but warm embrace. This time Tintin allowed himself to lean into the embrace, holding on for just a bit longer than necessary.

“Good bye, for the present, Captain,” said Tintin. “Snowy, come!”

As the train gained momentum Tintin leaned back in his seat, his eyes closed as he felt a doze coming on. An inquiring whine from Snowy had him opening his eyes again. Tintin smiled as Snowy rested his head in his lap and patted the dog. “I’m fine, Snowy, really. And we’ll see the captain, and your friend Molly (Snowy growled at the mention of the cat’s name) soon. After all, Marlinspike is our port in the storm, eh?”


End file.
